


Obnoxious Funny True and Mean

by Amelia_Clark



Series: Liz Phair's Music for Threesomes [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Other, Rough Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Top!Cas, abuses of angelic powers, bottom!Dean, dom!Meg, so many one-liners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-31 17:40:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1034497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelia_Clark/pseuds/Amelia_Clark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean wishes he could enjoy the boneless aftermath of being dually fucked within an inch of his life without the accompanying angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obnoxious Funny True and Mean

**Author's Note:**

> This was my original ending for [Supernova](http://archiveofourown.org/works/973240), and it wouldn't get out of my head. The other one has the benefit of actually being in character, but this one's smuttier, and has much more of Meg's snarky sadism, if you like that sort of thing like I do.
> 
> Title from the Liz Phair song "Flower."

Dean’s made Meg come with his tongue three times before she remembers she’s supposed to be calling the shots—then she kicks him away and forces him onto his back, pinning his wrists above his head in an iron grip. She climbs atop him, pushes her mouth against his so hard he can feel his lip split over his teeth, and sucks her own taste and a hint of blood from his tongue as she impales herself on his cock.

She’s slamming up and down with bruising force, her eyes gone pitch black, when Cas twists one hand in her hair and yanks her up, fury in his eyes. “You’ve hurt Dean,” he growls.

Meg laughs in his face and snaps her hips forward, pulling against his hold. “What, you think he’s not enjoying this? That he wasn’t asking for it?” She looks down at Dean, defenseless beneath her. “Tell him, sweetie. You like it rough, don’t you?”

Dean's sort of forgotten how to make noise right now, and so he just nods shakily. Because, God help him, he does like this—the helplessness, the utter lack of responsibility, even the pain. It's almost relaxing in its frenzy, like a good bar fight. 

"Of course you do, Dean," she says, lazily raking the nails of one hand the length of his chest. "It reminds you of those times Clarence here beat you half to death, doesn't it?" 

"Dean?" asks Cas, a slight waver in his voice. "I can stop her if you want. I can hurt her, if you need me to."

"No," Dean manages to gasp. "It's all right, Cas. You can fix me later, she won't really mess me up. Right?"

Meg smirks, almost sweetly, and slows her hips down to a hypnotic, heaving roll. "How could I, Winchester, now I know what fantastic fucking head you give. Did you ever consider doing that professionally?"

"Are you offering me money?" says Dean, bravado flooding back. "I'll take it, you know. I'm not proud, and I'm always broke."

She laughs, turns to Cas. "OK, enough with the small talk. Make yourself useful, sweetie—I think you should take a turn with that mouth."

"Please," says Dean. "I wanna suck your cock, Cas, c'mon."

Frown fading, Cas crawls up the bed and kneels by Dean's head; the hunter props himself up on his elbows for a better angle. It's still not a _good_ angle, especially since Meg's still pinning down the lower half of his body—and his lip's still bleeding, and he's pretty sure Meg bit through his tongue in at least one spot—but once he gets his mouth around the head of Cas's cock, he doesn't really care anymore, just bears down and lets the angel fill him up.

"Did I say to let go of my hair?" he dimly hears Meg say, right before she picks up that frantic rhythm again.

And then Dean's lost, torn between Cas's ever-deeper thrusts and the rapid push-pull of Meg's hips as she rides him. He wouldn’t have been able to hear his own thoughts over the noise the other two are making anyway, the low rumble of Cas's moans twining with Meg's panting descant in obscene harmony. And as Meg pounds her way into yet another orgasm, she throws her head back and screams, full-throated, clenching like a fist around Dean's cock until she drags him over the edge with her.

It’s ten seconds of white-hot pleasure followed by a crushing wave of shame and guilt. Otherwise known as the Dean Winchester special.

Dean pulls his mouth off Cas and drops his head back on the mattress, wishing he could enjoy the boneless aftermath of being dually fucked within an inch of his life without the accompanying angst. Somehow, even though his having sex with someone else was the whole point of this exercise, he hadn't excepted to come with anyone with Cas. And he was afraid the angel had expected the same.

Oh God, and that other thing about having sex with women! Being semi-gay was making him careless. (Though Sam had pompously informed him that “actually, I think _queer_ is probably the best term to describe the complexity of your sexuality,” since “straight except for TV-character crushes and the angel I’m in love with” was more difficult to drop into conversation.)

“Meg, uh, are you on the Pill or something? Please say yes.”

She climbs off of him, rolling her eyes. “Dean, darling, this body's been technically dead for years. Don't worry, Sam'll stay the only Winchester who's part demon."

Cas lifts Dean's chin with a gentle hand, assessing the damage to his face. "Can I heal him?" he asks Meg quietly.

"Since you asked so nicely. But then it's our turn on this merry-go-round, Clarence." She smirks. "Dean gets to watch."

Leaning into Cas's strong, caressing fingers, Dean feels the pain of Meg's ministrations ebb. "Cas, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come," he murmurs.

Cas just bends down and kisses him, a tender contrast to the demon's fierce mouth. "It doesn’t matter, Dean. You are always beautiful in rapture."

Dean smiles, unsure as always what he's done to deserve this creature's love. "I wish I could watch your face when you come, Cas. Watch those eyes get so blue they burn right through me, and know I'm the one making it happen."

Meg makes a gagging noise. "Oh my God, you two, if I wanted to hear shit like that, I'd have rented the collected works of John Cusack instead of agreeing to be double-teamed by frenemies. Bait and switch, seriously." She waves her hand between them to break their stare. "Dean, sit up against the headboard. I'm gonna use you as a recliner while your boyfriend fucks me."

She’s really the undisputed champion of ruining the moment.

"Uh, I'm not sure I can move," Dean confesses. So she just picks him up bodily, like a groom crossing the threshold, and lays him out against a stack of pillows, then leans back onto his chest, tucking her head beneath his chin and grinning up at him. It's actually pretty comfortable—familiar, as if they’re an old married couple watching a _Law & Order_ marathon on a Wednesday night.

Also, he’s got a pretty nice view of her boobs, which are pretty nice boobs. He rests his hands on them; she wriggles her shoulders against him in contentment and lets her knees fall open. "C'mere, angelcakes,” she says to Cas, reaching out her hands. “Climb aboard."

Cas stays where he is, shifting his weight uncomfortably. Meg tilts her hips at him impatiently. "C'mon, don't be coy. You're hardly a blushing virgin anymore, now Dean's debauched you."

"Yes, but I love Dean," says Cas, truculence creeping into his voice. "I merely tolerate you."

"So it'll be two new experiences, then. Banging a lady and banging someone you don't give a shit about."

"But if I 'bang' you, Meg, I won't be able to make love to Dean tonight."

"S'okay, I’ll be here in the morning," Dean reassures him; but Meg surprises them both by saying "Oh, you can finish with Dean, honey. I want you to."

Dean frowns down at her. "Really?"

"Do you think I'd miss a chance to watch you get fucked up the ass, Dean? Not in a million years. I just want a little angel-on-demon action first—if I'm ever back in Hell's good graces, I can dine out on that for eternity."

"As long as you don't tell Sam," Dean warns. "Because we would hunt you down and kill you."

"Please. Sam would kill me on the spot and you know it. I don't think he's ever forgiven me for the whole ‘murder spree in his body' episode. Real grudgeholder, that brother of yours."

"I am not finding this banter conducive to sustained arousal," Cas grumbles. But he finally moves, crossing the bed to kneel between the stacked angles of Meg's and Dean's legs. It's the latter he locks eyes with as he adjusts his position and sinks deep into Meg with an involuntary gasp.

"Oh," she says as he starts to move. "Oh, Castiel." She says his name again, in an accent Dean doesn't recognize; her head tips back and Cas's mouth instinctively follows the line of her throat downward. Her eyes flutter closed, and Dean comes to an unwelcome revelation.

She's in love with him too.

Well, _shit_. This isn’t what he signed up for. And he’ll be damned (again) if he’s going to stand for it.

"Cas," he snaps. "Kiss me."

The angel looks up, surprised, then stretches up over Meg's shoulder to claim Dean's mouth. Meg squeaks as she's folded up further between them; but as Cas's movement curls her thighs up, making his thrusts that much deeper, she stops protesting quickly and locks her ankles around his waist instead.

Dean's kiss is possessive, bordering on angry, and Cas can't help but speed up in response, punching brisk little "oh"s from Meg until he abruptly sits back on his haunches, panting. "I would like to fuck Dean now, please," he says.

Meg doesn’t open her eyes; her hands stretch towards Cas but fail to reach him, clutch the air once, wilt open, slump in defeat. "Give a girl a moment to catch her breath, and he's all yours," she murmurs. 

His flare of jealousy over, Dean decides he might as well be courteous. He tilts her chin up so she can’t avoid eye contact. "How do you want me?" he asks.

She looks up at him, face blank for a moment before the usual smug mask drops over her features. "Right. On all fours," she says, and then sits up, singing under her breath, "I'll take you home and make you like it."

There's some shuffling—threesome logistics are always kind of a pain, Dean's remembering that—as they take their new positions: Dean on hands and knees with Meg sprawled beneath him, staring up defiantly, Cas curled over him, one hand stroking down his back.

"You mind grabbing the lube, Meg? Should be some under the pillow— _oh my fucking Lord_ ," says Dean, because Cas has just parted his ass cheeks and gone in full throttle with his mouth, licking lushly at the yielding ring of muscle until he can work the tip of his tongue inside. Dean rocks his hips back into that blissful slip and drive, moaning, "Cas, that's so good, keep doing that, so good," until he hears a giggle and his eyes fly open to see Meg shaking with barely concealed glee.

"Dean, you filthy little slut! No, don't stop, please! Just ignore me, I’m sorry, it’s honestly really fucking hot. Here's the lube, Clarence. Get some fingers up there, I can't wait."

Cas mutters something into Dean's thigh that sounds like "fuck you" but is probably "thank you," given the source, before running his mouth and the barest edge of teeth up the length of Dean's spine, leaving shivers in his wake. Then he's sliding in one finger, two, scissoring and stretching while he nuzzles his neck.

A litany pours from Dean's throat in a voice that's somewhere between a keen and a sob, and every other word is "good" or "yes" or "love"; nearly all the rest are "Cas." And when he's ready, and the blunt head of Cas’s cock is pressing into him, slow and sudden at the same time, that's the only word that remains.

“Hey,” Meg whispers, and when he opens eyes he can’t remember closing, she’s smiling, not smirking, her eyes shining with awestruck lust. “Gimme your hands,” she says, and laces her fingers through his and pushes up, so that he’s braced against the inhuman power of her arms. Cas thrusts, the forward force of it flowing through Dean, through Meg, and they gasp in unison. 

“Dean,” Cas gasps in turn, “I’m not going to last. Close your eyes, close your eyes.”

“You too,” Dean tells Meg. “Cas goes full angel when he comes.”

“Oh, _that’s_ what you meant before. I thought you were just being maudlin.” She obeys, and rears up to kiss him, fiercely but not violently, as Cas buries himself deep and falls. 

Cool white light spreads across the back of Dean’s eyelids, and the room fills with the sound of Cas’s wings unfurling, like a flock of pheasants startled from a field.

Distantly, Dean hears an _oof_ , and realizes they’ve collapsed as dead weight onto Meg; he’s got a faceful of her hair, which smells distractingly of strawberry shampoo. He shifts reluctantly, prompting Cas to pull out and roll off of them. “Sorry,” he says to Meg as he follows suit.

“It’s OK,” she answers. “I’m a tough broad. You two are _intense_ , you know that?”

“Yeah, I’d say that’s accurate,” Dean says, laughing. Next to him, Cas murmurs incoherent assent. “Uh, do you wanna stay?”

“God, no,” Meg says, searching the bedclothes for her underwear. “I don’t cuddle, and you guys seem like cuddlers. Seriously, cut that shit out,” as Dean turns over to mold himself under Cas’s outstretched left arm. “I’ll settle for a shower and a ride to the bus station.”

“Fair enough. We can go you one better on the shower, though—well, Cas can. Cas, do that thing.”

“I’ve told you, it’s an abuse of divine power to use it to clean up after sex,” grumbles Cas, but he waves his hand anyway.

“See?” says Dean. “Minty fresh. He can put your clothes back on, too. Hell, he can teleport us to the bus station, save on gas.”

A few abuses of divine power later, they’re taking leave of Meg in a typically depressing small-town bus station, the kind Dean might be worried about leaving a human woman alone in, or at least one without weapons training. “Do we hug?” he asks.

“I think Miss Manners recommends shaking hands,” says Meg. “Thanks, boys, I’ve had a lovely time. Let’s never do it again.”

“Deal.”


End file.
